When Lucky finally got home, he found Abigail already asleep. He walked over to her, standing silently for a few moments, gazing at her peaceful face. Sighing softly, he undressed and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower, hoping to wash away the day's stress and his lingering unease.
He spent nearly an hour in the bathroom, letting the cold water cascade over him, attempting to cool his raging anger. His fury was so intense that his eyes had started to turn blue, a telltale sign of the turmoil within.
Banging his hand on the wall with both force and fury, he left a deep crack in the plaster. He needed to suppress this anger before facing Abigail. He knew that the moment he touched the bed, she would wake up, and the last thing he wanted was for her to see the rage boiling within him.
Speaking of Abigail, who was still sleeping, she suddenly woke up when she heard a loud bang. Confused, she looked around and noticed Lucky's clothes scattered on the floor. Immediately, she knew something was wrong. Lucky never left his clothes in disarray; everything that belonged to him was always meticulously organized, even his dirty laundry.
Standing up, she picked up the clothes and placed them neatly where they belonged before sitting back on the bed, waiting for Lucky to come out.
After a few minutes, he finally emerged from the bathroom. A towel was wrapped around his waist, and his hair was still dripping with water. His head was down, and his eyes were closed. His palpable anger gave him a godly, intimidating presence as he stood there, water cascading from his hair. Anyone who saw him in that moment would instantly know that even the slightest provocation would unleash a brutal, unrestrained fury.
When Abigail saw him, she immediately knew something was wrong. Gently getting up, she picked up a towel and walked over to him, giving him a warm hug. She hated seeing him angry, and the only thing that came to her mind was a hug, hoping it would help a little.
Lucky, who was standing quietly, suddenly felt her arms around him. He opened his eyes and looked down at her, and she gazed back up at him with a scared puppy look.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her eyes full of concern. He didn't reply, but as he stared at her, he could feel his anger dissipating.
"You know I don't like seeing you like this. You're not even smiling. I don't like it," she added softly, but he remained silent.
"Come, let me dry your hair," she suggested, gently pulling him towards the bed. He sat down, his back resting against the headboard, while Abigail knelt between his legs with a towel in her hand. She began to gently dry his hair, her touch tender and soothing, a balm to his frayed nerves.
"So, you won't tell me what happened today that made you this angry?" she asked again, her voice gentle yet persistent. This time, he replied.
"I came across a stupid brat who isn't worth talking about."
"Oh, I see. Is that why you're angry? There's no need to be. It's best not to listen to them; they'll just give you a headache. Anyone who causes you stress, just push them aside—no need to waste your energy," she advised, gently placing her hand on his cheek and making him look at her. She gave him a soft kiss, and he responded instantly, kissing her back with the same tenderness.
"I don't like seeing you angry; it makes me feel uneasy. Smile for me, okay? Don't think about anyone who makes you angry," she whispered, giving him another soft kiss. He couldn't help but kiss back. Her lips were just too soft and sweet to resist.